When Things Change
by AlyssPotter
Summary: In a different world, where sidekicks don't exist and superheroes are urban legends, they lead very different lives.
1. Once Upon a Street Corner

**A/N**

 **So yesterday (when trying to finish writing ch 6 of As Friendly As They Get), this thought just randomly came to my mind-what would happen if YJ had never met their mentors, were never super heroes? Anyways, we start off with Dick Grayson! And it may not be quite what you think...**

 **Summary: In a different world, where sidekicks don't exist and superheroes are urban legends, they lead very different lives.**

 **Song(s):**

 **Once Upon a December- (just look it up 'cause I have no idea who the singer is)**

 **Disclaimer: I wish I owned this!**

 **Once Upon a Street Corner**

Toss, catch.

Flip, juggle, smile.

It was all he'd ever known-all he ever _would_ know.

His body twists and he grins at the gathering crowd, juggling the balls in time despite his continued movement.

His face is plastered with make up and a mask, and his costume is getting sweaty, but the little girl grinning at him with innocent eyes made it all worth it.

His bag is pitifully empty, not a single coin in sight even though he's been performing on the Gotham street corner for the last 3 hours. His stomach reminds him of that fact as it lurches painfully, but he still grins, leaping and twirling, making the usually solemn city-goers oh and ah.

He slides down into the splits, grinning as the girl shrieks happily. He winks at her, causing a red hue to appear at her cheeks.

Flipping backwards, he gets to his feet, still juggling, another 2 rainbow balls having added themselves to the mix. He switches to one hand, reveling in the crowds echoed gasp.

He cartwheels over to the girl again, pulling out a rose from seemingly nowhere and presenting it to her with a flourish. She blushes, accepting it with small, chubby hands amongst sighs ("Isn't that so adorable?"). He gives her one more secretive smile before flipping back to the center of the ring, once again juggling with both hands.

The crowds changed slightly again (places to be and people to see, after all), but the girl is still there, sitting down to watch him in her tattered coat.

Another hour goes by, and a small bit of cash sneaks its way into the gypsy boys bag; the child is still there, watching, smiling.

He stops for a moment to take several gulps of water, stretching his sore limbs at the same time. Pushing his limits was a fun pastime-besides, what else was there to do? (He's never going back to one of those orphanages again-but then again, it wasn't really an orphanage).

His stomach grumbles again and he wiggles his hand into the bag, snagging a partially unwrapped candy bar and viciously biting into it. The little girl looks at it longingly and he offers it to her. With widened eyes, she snatches it, inhaling it in fear he'd take it back. He merely smiles (though his body groans in agony) and hands her the water.

Time keeps ticking by, and the the summer heat beats down on them, but Dick is nothing if not resilient. His act is shifted over to the shade, along with the child, and he soldiers on, moving on to pure contortion. Another crowd is formed, and they gasp at his daring feats, mouths agape as he folds his limber body in half.

It's past lunch time now, but he keeps going anyway because this was his favorite part (why was she still there? Where were her parents?).

The case that's been sitting on the sidewalk since the beginning (a long, thin box) popped open, and Dick carefully pulls out the shining bar. The trapeze glinted in the harsh sunlight that managed to evade the smog, leather worn and faded from years of use.

Ah, time for the final trick. And what a tricky trick this trickster had thought up (Dick snickered to himself-his inner monologue never ceased to amuse himself).

He bit his lip, glancing around the area in search of a proper support beam. There's really nothing there but a lamppost, so he goes with that, because everyone knows the cops have bigger things to deal with (last he'd heard, the Joker was on a rampage. But Batman was there to stop him, as usual).

He climes the poll, inching his way up with the bar clenched in his free hand, chains clanking on the black night light. He ties it up, ( _securely, securely, securely_ ) then stands up, 15 feet from the ground and jumps. The girl, and a forming crowd, gasp in union, but he grabs the Trapeze with his knees, raptor eyes on the distance from him to the ground. (A friendly reminder of his past, you see).

He swings, backwards and forwards, jumping and twisting and grinning and wincing. They gasp, they scream, they cry (oh, how that one rings!). It's a little past two, and he knows he needs to stop (to eat), but flying is just so intoxicating, so freeing, and he knows he's not going down any time soon. (It's the reason he ran away).

Sweat is dripping down his face, blatantly, and school children stop on their trek home to watch. A few sit down, even, and it makes him smile all the more.

This wasn't so different-the awed crowd, the exertion, nerves-and he faintly hears a ringing circus toon.

But because he's so stuck on reality, he just shakes his head and keeps going, watching as his bag slowly fills (it's a nice feeling).

Some of the high schoolers gawk as they watch a boy-who looks younger than them-twist and flip, not missing a beat when his foot slips from the built up heat.

A blond haired teenager with cropped hair and a sneer on her face stops to look, eyebrows narrowed and shoulders hunched with anger and pain. Her hat dips lower but her eyes go upward, straining to watch a little ray of sunshine in the bleak Gotham atmosphere.

The dark haired boy is lost in his own paradise, but he grins at her nonetheless (because he knew what she was feeling) and she slowly inches away, tempted to stay and forget her worries for a day.

But her dad will want her home, as her moms still in rehab-and _who knows_ where Jade is-but that doesn't mean she can't watch him latter tonight.

Dick realizes the little girl is gone-it makes him a little sad. But he holds onto the hope that he'll see her tomorrow. The tall blond girl eventually left too, and soon the crowd disperses, their comfy homes and warm dinners calling to them. Dick sighs, but slows down, eventually crawling up the chains to release the binds holding the Trapeze in place. He grips it and flips to the ground, grinning as he sticks the landing.

Gently, he wipes the smooth metal down with a worn rag and tucks it away. His mask is next, slipping off raven locks. He digs through the (somewhat) money filled bag, pulling out sweats and a jacket.

Once his uniform is hidden, Dick scrubs at the makeup on his face, managing to get most of it off, but the golden glitter refused to come off. Oh well, he looks like a track star coming from a party. Not his worst cover.

Where should he sleep tonight? The trees look welcoming, as usual, but he's heard Poison Ivy was on the loose-best not to temp fate. He zips his bag up and slings it over his shoulder, picking up the battered case that holds his most prized possession. A few coins jingle in his bag and he grins, a slight skip to his step. Maybe he doesn't have quite enough money yet, but one day, he _will_ earn enough to get passage out of Gotham, back to his home (Haly's circus).

As he trudges to the dingy cafe for a dinner (his body is begging him for some form or nourishment), he fails to notice a pair of grey eyes watching his figure slowly disappear from sight, a slight smile still on her face from his ending performance. Artemis sighs and tugs her mask over her face.

Sportsmaster didn't appreciate tardiness.

 **A/N**

 **Part 1 now complete! All these stories will connect to each other-and, as you can guess, Artemis is next! R &R!**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


	2. A Wish for Ziplines and Escape

**A/N**

 **Aaaaaaand heres chapter 2! Hope you enjoy! (It's all about Artemis)!**

 **Also, I'm not entirely sure what those 4 guest reviews were about. If you wrote them, please PM me or something! (I am literally so confused right now).**

 **Summary:** **In a different world, where sidekicks don't exist and superheroes are urban legends, they lead very different lives.**

 **Song(s):**

 **Once Upon a December**

 **Disclaimer: No, I don't own these rights. I borrow them and create my own...**

 **Chapter 2**

 **A Wish for Ziplines and Escape**

She leaped over a roof top, silent as the night in which she prowled. A black bow was clutched in her scarred hand, though that little fact was hidden by the full body black spandex she was adorned in. A grey mask hid her face, painted in tiger stripes that connected her to her beloved mother (she was off somewhere nice, Artemis had made sure she was safe-far away from the nightmare that was Gotham. A nice city called Central City; oddly, her initial image from the word was a red haired boy she'd seen there...)

She tucks into a roll, wincing as her twisted ankle screamed at her angrily. She does her best to fluidly get to her feet, but winces nonetheless. Da- _Sportsmaster_ has been getting more and more aggressive nowadays. She fingers her short, choppy hair sadly-it used to be her pride and joy (a connection to a long-lost sister). He'd gotten mad at her the other day (because no matter what he did to her, she refused to kill for money), and had chopped her waist-long hair off in his rage (and now she looks the part of his daughter).

Shaking her head (because it was bad to get nogalistic about such things) she sprints again, shooting a zipline across the tall building. She swings across, stumbling a landing. She tenses, glancing around her in worry and breathing a sigh of relief. That's right, he was in the warehouse below. She peaks over the side, tensing at the absolute silence. Gotham was never silent.

She jumps over the edge anyway, a zipline arrow automatically being shot from the bow in her hand. Almost as quiet as a cat (because Jade held that title), Tigress slipped through the propped open skylight, landing on the floor with a light thud.

Immediantly, she back-handsprings away from the javelin that imbeds itself in the floor, cracking the concrete. With narrowed eyes, swords appear in her hands, almost like magic.

Sportsmaster chuckles, face shadowed as he steps out from the darkness in which he hid. "Well, baby girl, I suppose you aren't completely helpless."

She growls, lunging forward. He sidesteps, and suddenly shes in a lot of pain, clutching her antagonized side. The stitches split and shes bleeding all over again (just like last night). With gritted teeth, she stumbles to her feet, reaching for a bag hidden in a pouch.

He raises an eyebrow and takes it from her, pulling it open. His face changes from malicious to pleased within a second, eyeing the content. "Very good. I suppose you can go. Meet me here tomorrow, and bring this."

It takes all Artemis has not to cry from frustration (and maybe a tad bit of pain), but she grabs the sealed envelope and tucks it into another concealed pocket, ignoring the guilt that's tearing at her.

He disappears into the shadows and shes left alone again, clutching her bleeding wound. With a grimace she shoots another arrow, swinging to the rooftop with a gasp. She manages to stumble home, sliding open her cracked window and silently collapsing on the floor. Her hands claw at the floor as she slides over to a bow case, flipping it open. Her quiver is slid off and her bow and swords join them moments latter.

She pulls out a dirty polishing cloth, pulling the weapons to her one by one to scrub them of dried blood and grime. Weapons, after all, were the key to her survival. She sits there for what feels like hours, painstakingly scrubbing her tools until they glimmer. Finally her shaking hands pack away the last of her weapons, and she lays down on the floor, slipping off her mask.

It takes a lot of willpower, but she finally gets back to her feet and rummages around in one of the molded drawers. She finally feels the sticky red box and yanks it out, hands trembling from hurt, opening it with a clack. She grabs a handful of pain killers and swallows them dry (this kit is way out of date, back from her moms con days).

Artemis grabs the desk, using it as a clutch to get up, grabbing the kit and stumbling to the small bathroom that couldn't be classified as a storage closet (she could barely squeeze in herself). Her whole body is trembling now, and she clutches the sink as she yanks and pushes off her skin-tight uniform. The bandages she had carefully wrapped around her battered body were stained red, and she cringes as she pulls them off. She chucks them in the small trash can.

Carefully, she uses the sinks muggy water to clean out her cuts, almost screaming at the one on her side. With them all clean, she sits down on the toilet, gasping for breath. She grabs the silver scissors from the set and snips the previous stitches, yelping. It hurts to pull them out, but they soon join the old bandages in the trash.

An anesthetic is applied, and she bites her lip had, drawing blood. She shakily closes the bottle and places it back in the kit. Now, the most painful part. Oh joy (note the sarcasm).

After placing a rag in her mouth as a gag, she threads the pointed needle and-trying not to hesitate-slips it in and begins closing the wound (she nearly cries). Finally ( _finally_ ) she's done, so she wraps up the wounds, finishing off a knot in her arm.

Again, she almost faints, but she packs away the kit and rinses her face and hair before stumbling to the kitchen to grab some food and water ( _water water water_ ).

The fridge slams closed and she stumbles to her bedroom and collapses. With her last strain of energy she chows down as fast as she can, wanting it to be done with. Done, done and done; she lays her exhausted head down on the lumpy pillow and closes her eyes.

She dreams of people and homes and beaches and lucky red-head boys-anything but right here, her life now. It's pitiful, but she's _so done_ with following his orders, but she doesn't know how to escape (shes not as resourceful as Jade) and he's threatened her mother. She doesn't _want_ to steal for him, or steal anything at all (she never, ever wanted to hurt anyone-to be the villain).

So she's stuck, probably never getting out, but these dreams, _dreams_ , little pieces of a paradise like the gypsy boy on the trapeze, the red haired boy in Central. She wonders how his life is.

Said boy is hundreds of miles away and running.

 **A/N**

 **How was it? As you can tell, Wally's up next! Please enjoy, R &R, all that jazz (I looooove jazz music! I'm going to join a jazz band next year (I hope))!**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


	3. Central Panic

**A/N**

 **Well, here ya go! Chapter 3 at its finest (It's Wally!) Thanks to all you follower/reviewers!**

 **Summary:** **In a different world, where sidekicks don't exist and superheroes are urban legends, they lead very different lives.**

 **Song(s):**

 **Once Upon a December**

 **Disclaimer: Ya, no. Nu, nicht, nada, nein, no. Not mine.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Central Panic**

He was panting-hard-sprinting away from the antagonizing thought that threatened him, followed him, wouldn't leave him alone.

His red hair is in his eyes again, sweat dripping down his face, but it really doesn't matter. His eyes watch, but are unseeing, looking at another plane of reality. He's sprinting through the trees, trying to escape the jeers, branches brushing against his face and leaving marks and scratches-but who really cares?

His sneakers are muddy, cold and wet, falling apart on his feet, the red and white stripes fading and peeling. He's wearing bermuda shorts, but they too are a mess. His button up shirt was peeled off a few miles back, and his yellow undershirt is sweat stained and torn.

He honestly doesn't care.

His body is shaking with exhaustion, but Wally keeps running, until suddenly, he's not. His movements are somewhat comical as he flails his arms, legs flopping upwards-but then he lands on his face and it's not so funny anymore.

He lays there panting until he regains his senses enough to crawl behind a bush and curl up, hiding from the truth.

Barry was the Flash. _The Flash_.

He angrily scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand, growling. Its not so much that he's the Flash-because that's pretty cool-but rather that he hadn't trusted him enough to tell him until now.

 _He's 16_.

Sure, he was a bit of a blabber mouth when he was younger (cause, _come on_ , he was the Flash's biggest fan) but never would he ever think about revealing a secret as important as that!

His favorite uncle didn't trust him. It hurt, more than he'd like to admit.

And ya, he understands why he would keep quiet, but really. It's not like he's going to go around yammering about it! What if he'd needed to know this sooner? What if his Uncle had gotten hurt (had _died_ ) and he hadn't known about it? Would it have been a secret forever? ( _It hurts it hurts it hurts_ )

A gust of wind buffets his bush and he freezes, holding his breath. Because now he knows what- _who_ that is. A moment of silence more and then he sighs, folding in on himself.

His life is pretty good, all things considered. A nice house, loving (but apparently _not_ trustful) family, friends, awesome grades and science. He's got a lot going for him.

But then again, it turns out he's been lied to his whole life ( _his whole freakin life!_ ).

He's upset and is going to be mad for a long, long time. Barry can grovel and try to make the mistrust less painful (and Wally feels like a jerk for being mad in the first place) but it's not going to happen. Not yet, anyway.

He sighs and leans against the trunk, head thudding on impact. School has been getting better, but there's still those taunts to consider. Just because he was a nerd and really, really loved science (he has yet to lose a science competition) doesn't mean he's automatically anti-social. The Flash memrobilia probably didn't help matters (he's glad he stopped wearing that ages ago, because he'd gotten a lot of scorn for it).

It's just, his Uncle had been all "Here you go Wally!" "I got you a present, Wally!" "I got the Flash to sign this for you!" It had gotten so tiersome, year after year to keep wearing it ("Hey guys, look, West's wearing his little fangirl merchandise!") but Barry's hopeful looking pupy eyes and slightly guilty expression (which he now understood) prompted him to weakly thank him and shrug on the neon shirt. He wanted to be like his Uncle Barry-but now, maybe not so much.

On the other hand, everything makes sense now. The hastened excuses to leave, inhumane amounts of food, injuries that would spring up and disappear just as quickly. That odd ring on his hand, missing for days, his tendency to rush through everything. Completely random guests from different cities that would periodically pop up and talk to him as if they'd known him for ages. (He's swears, half of those people are millionaires).

Thinking back on it, Wally feels a little stupid for not putting it together sooner. Then again, it's not like he was looking for anything in the first place. Why would he? He though he was trusted-and ya, he sounds a bit like a child, but he thinks he gets the right after being lied to for 16 years. He trusted his Uncle with his deepest fears, his darkest secrets-and the man didn't even have the _decency_ to say he was hiding something from him (he'd noticed eventually, but still).

It's all wheighing down on him so heavily, like one of those barbells the school gym Coach stuck on his shoulders and told him to lift-naturally, he would start sinking to the ground, body quivering and quaking and sweat dripping down a clenched jaw and eyes tightly squeezed shut; that right there was a metaphor of his life (sometimes, he even depresses himself).

What would it be like, to be totally free? ( _Of this truth, responsibility, judgement_ )? Like-and he had probably been hallucinating, but still-that green skinned girl who flew above the clouds (he thinks it was Martian Manhunter, because who else?).

He longs for it, wishes for it. Maybe sometime in the future, but it doesn't feel like it's coming anytime soon.

So he sighs and stands, feeling himself almost immediately swept into his babbling Uncle's arms. He hugs him back.

Forgive? Yes. Forget? Never.

 **A/N**

 **Can anyone guess who's next? ;)**

 **Anyways, R &R!**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


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